


Howling Mad

by WolfAndHound_Archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Post-Sirius in Azkaban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:43:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5940886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfAndHound_Archivist/pseuds/WolfAndHound_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius, tired and frustrated from waiting around to begin the fight against Voldemort, finds something that triggers memories of a long-past event.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Howling Mad

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Lassenia, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Wolf and Hound](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Wolf_and_Hound), which was created to make stories posted to the Sirius_Black_and_Remus_Lupin Yahoo! mailing list easier to find. However, even though I still love the fandom, I am no longer active in it and do not have the time to maintain it. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in December 2015. I posted an announcement with Open Doors, but we may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Wolf and Hound collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wolfandhound/profile).

God, this waiting is driving me crazy! It seems like we should be doing something other than sitting around and wondering what is going to happen next. With Voldemort gaining power and followers daily, I'd think that Dumbledore would have us more involved, especially considering that idiot Fudge is burying his head in the sand as usual. After the debacle that was the final task of the Triwizard Tournament, I would have thought we would be doing more to curb the Death Eaters' resurgence. Dumbledore sent me to help gather together wizards known to be loyal to him, but once that was accomplished, he requested that I come to Remus' home to wait. Wait for what? The end of the world as we know it? That's not my style, especially where Harry's safety is concerned.

Hell, I can't even go outside for fear that someone will see me. The vast majority of the wizarding world still considers me to be a cold-blooded killer, ready to murder anyone in my path. Only a few people know about or believe in my innocence.

I look around at Remus' house. How many summers did I spend here with him and his family? Those happy memories seem to be a part of another lifetime now. I should be happy to have a roof over my head, after so long spent running from the Ministry and hiding in caves, abandoned buildings or even out in the open. To have the luxury of a warm house and time with one of the best friends I've ever had **should** be enough, but it's not. In a fit of anger and frustration, I fling my arm across Remus' desk, sending books, parchment, quills and ink wells crashing to the floor in all directions.

"Damn!" Why the hell did I just do that? Remus is going to kill me--he is such a neat freak. Slowly, I start picking up the mess, and then I notice something by the chair. Surely not; not after all of these years and all of the problems it caused. The little blue book is worn and tattered, barely held together by the mass of Spello-tape on its binding. Its pages are yellowed and dog eared from countless readings. For Remus to even **have** a copy of this book astonishes me, especially considering that its mere existence nearly cost us our friendship. Fingering it carefully, I think back to a day so many years ago, and the incident that caused this little book to come about. So many memories come tumbling back.....

Memories from that day swirl through my mind, bringing forth a spasm of anger even now. Images come flooding back of our Defense Against the Dark Arts class in which Professor Bryant began outlining in great detail the various methods for detecting and destroying werewolves. That slimy, malicious git. No one liked him, not even the Slytherins, and he was head of their House.

Time and again, his cold gaze settled on Remus as he spoke. Of course he knew about Remus' secret--all of the professors did. Dumbledore had to make them aware of the fact that one of the students at Hogwarts was a werewolf. After all, certain precautions and preventative measures had to be taken to ensure the safety of the students and faculty. All of the other professors, even if they harbored their own private prejudices about this fact, dealt with it professionally. Only Professor Bryant went out of his way to make Remus' life hell.

As if it weren't already--his monthly transformations resulted in agonizing pain and dozens of self inflicted injuries. Even worse, his subsequent absences from class were already causing some speculation among several students, especially Severus Snape. Poor Remus tried desperately to keep the rumors at a minimum with various stories of family and personal illness, deaths of relatives and anything else that he could think of that seemed remotely logical. I believe that the only thing that made it remotely bearable was the knowledge that James, Peter and I knew his secret and supported him completely.

My stomach still twists with rage as I think of Remus in the classroom that morning. As Professor Bryant continued his lesson, I watched Remus surreptitiously--his jaw was clenched and a muscle in his cheek twitched as he fought to keep control of his emotions. Glancing across at James, I caught his eye and saw the same furious expression that I knew must have been painted on my own face. Peter kept trying to catch Remus' eye to show his support, but Remus continued to stare at the same distant spot, somewhere over Professor Bryant's shoulder.

After class, I tried to catch Remus so that we could head to the dining hall together. Unfortunately, he was too quick and darted out of the room ahead of us. We barely saw his slight form as he disappeared down one of the long, dark halls. James asked if I wanted to go after him, but I said no. Sometimes you just need to be by yourself, and I knew that this was one of those times for Remus.

James, Peter and I went on to lunch, heatedly discussing the morning's class. I think it was James who first brought it up--that it was no wonder everyone mistrusted and hated werewolves; after all, everything written about them was negative. I retorted that maybe someone should write an account of what they are **really** like. Someone who had first hand knowledge. Someone who could tell the wizarding world that werewolves had feelings and emotions like anyone else, and should be treated with the same respect due to the rest of the population.

Of course, by "someone", I meant Remus. But, even as I lay in my bed that night, I knew that he would never do that. To reveal his secret to an ignorant and unforgiving world would be unthinkable. No, Remus was far too content to suffer in silence and bear his curse as stoically as he could. Most everyone looked upon Remus as a frail, studious young man; quiet and unassuming and almost always tired and worn looking. Very few knew the solid steel core that was within him and sustained him throughout all his years of pain and rejection and fear. Actually, of the four of us, I'd dare say that Remus was the strongest in many aspects.

I alone, however, knew how many nights the dreams and nightmares kept him trembling and restless behind the curtains of his bed. Our beds were side by side in the dormitory, and I had been awakened many times by his crying and thrashing as he battled the demons that haunted him every day of his life. So often, I slipped unbidden into his bed, folded myself around his small body and held him until the nightmares passed. Sometimes he awakened and we talked about it, but most times I just held him until he settled back into a dreamless sleep. I thought about how often I'd held him, gazing at his long silky hair and his perfect porcelain features, and wondered how in the world anyone could term that "monstrous". I would defy anyone to gaze into those lovely, intelligent hazel eyes and tell me that he was not human.

Those were the thoughts that ran through my mind that night as I searched for a roll of parchment and a quill, and began to write furiously by the light of my wand. Remus wouldn't tell his story, so someone must. My thoughts spilled out onto the parchment, and before I realized it, the first pink and gold rays of dawn were starting to snake their way across the sky outside Gryffindor Tower. Impulsively, I rolled up the parchment and made my way to the Owlery, with the aid of James' Invisibility Cloak. Tying it to the leg of a school owl, I sent off this testament to the humanity of a werewolf that I considered to be one of the most loyal and wonderful friends I've ever had.

Months later, after I'd nearly forgotten that I'd even written the account, I received a notice back from the powers that be at Whizz Hard Publishing. Amazed, and more than a bit curious, I took the letter back to the dormitory to read it in the privacy of my bed with the curtains drawn.

"Dear Sir or Madam" it began. "Although we at Whizz Hard Publications do not make it a policy to accept submissions written anonymously, we have decided that, due to the nature of your submission, we will not only accept it, but publish it. We feel that this is a side of the werewolf story that needs to be told, and you have done so quite eloquently. As this is an anonymous submission, no royalties shall be paid to you, unless you would be so kind as to step forward. Please note that any editing done will be only of grammatical nature, as we wish to preserve the honesty and emotional quality of this work. Thank you for your submission of 'Hairy Snout, Human Heart'."

Well. I'd certainly never thought that they would even consider publishing what was really more of a rant against the treatment of my best friend. I didn't care--if it could change the opinion of even one person about werewolves, then I'd be glad. Of course, I didn't want anyone to know who had written it--to expose Remus' secret in that manner would be the ultimate betrayal. Hopefully, it would simply give people another view; to dispel some of the terrible misconceptions about werewolves. I carefully buried the letter in the bottom of my school trunk, and headed back out to the Quidditch pitch to watch the practice sessions in the warm spring air.

It wasn't until months later, as we were buying our school books for the next year, that Remus discovered the book. James, Remus, Peter and I had all agreed to meet at Diagon Alley to get our supplies and spend the day together before classes started again. At Flourish and Blotts, we were looking over our lists when I heard a strangled gasp behind me. I turned to see Remus, holding an open copy of "Hairy Snout, Human Heart" and looking at me with an expression like I'd never quite seen before. Betrayal, confusion, anger...all there on his face as he stared at me.

"I **cannot** **believe** that you would do this to me, Sirius!" Throwing the book at me, he stormed out into the street and disappeared. I turned to see James and Peter goggling at me, wondering what was going on that could have caused the normally reserved Remus to react in such a way. James picked up the book and, after thumbing through it, stared at me incredulously. As I nodded miserably, I tried to explain that I'd written it anonymously, that no names were used in order to protect Remus. I'd only wanted everyone to know that not all werewolves were these horrid monsters that should be disposed of like rabid dogs. They understood, but that didn't make any of us feel any better.

It took several weeks before Remus started speaking to me again, but he was still angry. I tried to explain, to tell him that it was because of the incident in class last year, but he wasn't interested. Finally, we all agreed to let the subject drop, and tried not to mention the book again.

Now.....after all of these years, I hold the little book in my hand again. Such a small thing, to have almost destroyed a friendship that I treasure more than just about anything in the world. I never meant to cause a problem--I just wanted to let the world know what werewolves could be like. As usual, my rashness and impetuousness nearly cost me a terrible price.

Lost in these thoughts, I don't hear the door to the cottage open. I'm still standing there, holding the book, when Remus comes up quietly beside me and puts his hand on my shoulder. Turning, I see his gentle smile and finally I know that all is forgiven.


End file.
